Page 12 of Loving Wild
“Did you punch me last night?” he asks with a frown.
“I wanted to,” I admit. “Several times, but Zac got in first. That was right after you threw a bottle of water, and it nearly hit Sam.”
“Fuck me.” He closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. “I really did go all out to fuck things up.”
“You really did. You said some pretty harsh things too. You said them to Zac, but they were aimed at both your brothers.”
“Whadisay?” He rushes out the word before holding his hand up, leaning forward, and vomiting down the toilet again.
The toilet in the ensuite is separate from the rest of the bathroom, enclosed behind a door, and with two of us in here, it’s a tight fit and I have to lean on his shoulders as I lift out of my spot against the wall, grab the face cloth, rinse it under the cold tap, and place it back on his neck while he spews up more of the contents of his stomach.
I’ve gotten myself in this state plenty of times and know there’s not a lot I can do to help, so I lean back against the vanity, fold my arms across my chest, and watch him.
When he’s done, he repeats the face cloth wipe and mouth rinse routine.
“What did I say?” he repeats, looking over his shoulder to where I’m now standing.
“You accused them of not looking out for you in the past.”
I watch as his eyes close. Without opening them, he again, very slowly shakes his head.
Shifting, he leans against the wall where I was and sits side on to me as we talk.
“See, this is why I’m surprised you were still here when I got back or didn’t leave with my brothers last night.”
“Yeah, gotta admit, Wild, it crossed my mind. It definitely wasn’t your finest moment. You behaved like a complete dick head.”
He gives a small laugh. “You sound so Essex when you say‘dick ‘ed’.”
“That’s all you took from that? Are you still drunk?”
He nods. “Maybe a little.”
“You want a black coffee or some toast? Something to try and line your stomach?”
That earns me a one eye open, lop-sided grin, and I hate what that look does to my insides and the way it makes me feel any kind of sympathy for him.
Kinda.
“What?” I ask.
“You called me a dick ‘ed, then you offer to feed me and make me coffee.”
“Only because I’m sick of the sound of you spewing, and don’t think for a minute that I won’t spit in your coffee and lick your toast. Now, do you want something or not?”
“Not. I think I just need to try and sleep it off for now but thanks for looking after me.” He sits himself up a little straighter, and his eyes meet mine.
“Thanks for not leaving,” he says with a small smile and a shrug. “I know it’s more than I deserve.”
“Behave like a div again, and you won’t see my arse for dust.”
He gives another small chuckle.
“What the fuck’s a div?” he looks up at me and asks.
“It’s a term of endearment, a word you use to describe someone you have strong emotional feelings for,” I lie with a straight face.
He closes one eye again as he continues to look up at me, a smile slowly spreading across his face.
